


Proper Villains

by kaitscribbles



Series: one night before the heist [1]
Category: Ocean's Eleven (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitscribbles/pseuds/kaitscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man's sex drive was like his appetite: completely out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Villains

Basher was on Reuben's patio, having a smoke and thinking about how to chisel the new eighteen-tumbler Krieger wall safe. No matter that he hadn't been hired for anything that soft in years, so he'd probably never see one on a job. This was Zen meditation for safecrackers. Knowing that somewhere in the world, somebody wanted to keep you out. It made the back of your mind itch.

He was so engrossed with fracture points that he didn't hear Rusty until the man himself was already sliding into the next chair, plucking the Silk Cut easily from between his fingers. "Hey, Bash."

Basher blinked, refocusing. "Rus."

Rusty dragged deep and passed the cigarette back. "You get those detonators?"

"Done. The cunts overcharge on short notice but we're set."

"Fantastic."

"Can't sleep?" Stupid question, Basher knew. He'd never seen Rusty sleep more than four hours a night. It usually dropped to two during a job.

"Nah, I had about an hour." And obviously rolled straight out of bed. Rusty was in loose t-shirt and trousers, his hair tousled into random spiky bits. He cracked his knuckles and stretched, rubbing absently at his jaw, lazy and half-contained restlessness in every movement, and the collar of his shirt pulled aside as he fidgeted.

Bitemarks looked good on Rusty.

Basher had always thought so, anyway. He felt the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "S'good to have Danny out, yeah?"

Rusty's eyes flicked up and he grinned back, a low beam of smug pleasure. His grin said that Danny was out and yeah, it was fantastic and also that Danny was currently out cold, which explained why Rusty was up and about, looking like the cat who wanted a second canary.

The man's sex drive was like his appetite: completely out of control.

Rusty was still looking at him, still grinning faintly, and Basher realized that he ought to say something. Keep the conversation going. Get it back on neutral ground, something to derail that speculative little tilt of Rusty's head. "Thanks again for the rescue, Rus."

 _Brilliant, oh yes, why don't you think about that. Himself shoving you down on the bloody car in cuffs. That will help._

Rusty waved off his thanks. "Glad to do it, you know that. We need you for the Bellagio."

The diversion worked, though. Rusty had quit eyeing him, slouched with his head tipped back, looking thoughtfully at the stars. Basher allowed himself a few seconds to watch and enjoy. Just a few, mind.

Back when Saul first put him in touch with them, the old guy also warned him: people who shagged Rusty with too much regularity didn't get invited back for jobs. Basher'd thought Saul was off his nut at first. There was work and there was play, and good professionals didn't mix them. He thought. He kept thinking. Right up until he first laid eyes on Rusty and all of his thoughts disappeared into _Oh sweet bleeding christ_.

He remembered being rather proud that he'd held off for almost three days before tumbling into bed with Rusty.

Because Rusty Ryan radiated sex every living second, but once a job started? The bastard _broadcast_ sex. They could probably pick it up from space. Like every worldly temptation wrapped into one, the way he stalked about and watched you with those gleaming come-fuck-me eyes and licked his fingertips while he ate.

But Basher had asked around (circumspectly, of course) and discovered that Saul's warning was spot-on. Initial and casual was fine. Continuing to shag Rusty during every single job was not. Whether it was Danny getting territorial or Rusty getting bored or what, he wasn't quite sure, but he suspected a touch more of the former. Danny Ocean was the practical sort. Probably he didn't mind much if Rusty worked out his energy on other folks. Like the Amish getting together to raise a barn, maybe. You'd take advantage of other resources for the heavy lifting, but you wouldn't necessarily want the same blokes working your farm on a daily basis.

Or some other crap metaphor. Whatever.

Point was, Basher understood how it worked. He knew that his own judgment was remarkably lousy when it came to his associates, proven by the number of times he'd been hauled off by the police. Working with Danny and Rusty was profitable, well-run and professional. Even good sex, mindboggling sex, wasn't worth throwing that away. After one last sweaty round (on that hotel balcony in Belize, very nice) Basher had forced himself to think about work. Work. Work was important.

Rusty'd had enough of the stars, apparently. He was shifting in his chair again, yawning a little, and Basher pulled his eyes away as Rusty scratched absently at his stomach. His nerves were beginning to sing and he suddenly knew that if he didn't find some excuse to clear off or distract Rusty, all of his high-minded principles were going right out the sodding window because it was two o'clock in the morning and Rusty was an evil bastard who certainly knew what he looked like when he licked his lips that way.

God bless the kid for choosing that moment to come back from surveillance. Basher could see him in the living room over Rusty's shoulder as he peeled off his jacket and rubbed at those big innocent eyes. Nice.

He used the tip of his cigarette to point toward the house. "Rus?"

"Huh?" Rusty twisted around to follow the line, frowning. Interest immediately tightened every line of his body. "Oh. Yeah."

Basher chuckled. He didn't try to stop himself from appreciating the predatory way Rusty was staring through the window. "Planned to give it a go myself," he said idly. "But help yourself, mate. I don't mind."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if you really don't mind." Rusty pushed out of the chair. A blink, and Basher caught the mischief narrowing his eyes before Rusty leaned in to kiss him fast, a teasing dart of tongue, then eased forward to murmur into his ear. "Thanks, Bash."

"Yeah, Rus." He tried not to hold his breath as Rusty shifted back, still hovering close. Basher swallowed carefully. _Hands. Keep the hands down._ "No worries."

Rusty grinned full-on this time, bare inches away. It made Basher's stomach do a slow roll before he straightened up. "See you in the morning, then."

He leaned back and watched as Rusty sauntered purposefully toward the house. Dug in his pocket for another cigarette, concentrating on the ritual pull and snap of the lighter, deep inhale and satisfying burn, blowing out slowly as he looked toward the sky. _Oh, lucky Linus. Enjoy yourself, son._

Professional ethics could be a bitch.


End file.
